The Red White & Blue Medley
by Oh Prudence
Summary: JP/LE. "She's the one that you do this for. Why you smoke, why you drink, why you go off into the Quidditch pitch at night and just leave me here all by myself... you're doing this to get HER attention! You'd never do this for me!"
1. The Ignorance of Lily Evans

**THE RED WHITE & BLUE MEDLEY **  
><em>"The Redemption of James Potter &amp; the Ignorance of Lily Evans"<em>  
>by Oh Prudence<p>

I do not own Harry Potter, however, the entirety of this plot and  
>unfamiliar characters are mine. Quotes belong to the brilliant<br>Neil Gaiman. Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.  
>Rated 'M' for brief adult situations<br>and mild drug use. JP/LE.

_(Part One: The Ignorance of Lily Evans)  
><em>He can't help it when her red hair presses against that Ravenclaw's shoulder and his knuckles grow a putrid white.

* * *

><p>"Have you ever been in love?<br>Horrible isn't it?  
>It makes you so vulnerable.<br>It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it  
>means that someone can get inside you and mess you up."<p>

-Neil Gaiman

* * *

><p>His name's Joe Rodriguez.<p>

And my, what a sick bloke was he.

The name tastes of morose bile on James Potter's tongue whilst a puff of white smoke trails from his lips; it's eleven o'clock on a Friday night but he wastes his youth away underneath the oak across the pitch.

And with long legs spread and a slouched body slumped against the trunk, the missing Quidditch captain keeps his wrath towards Rodriguez in his eyes. And the meager recipient of this wrath is a poor lone log just feet from him. He's keeping his anger to himself, this time. He's all alone and maybe, maybe being alone was his problem all along.

He hasn't _always been _alone, thank you very much.

He had this habit—five times a week (except on Mondays and Fridays) he'd find himself within the comfort of Camille Atkins.

Lips greedily shape into an 'O' as another departs from his wasted lungs as he thinks about her.

He shouldn't be smoking, or doing Camille Atkins for that matter; but in all fairness, he never did the two things at the same time.

When Atkins failed to entertain him with her presence on those two evenings, he had another friend—one paler in comparison, skinnier in length, and held more toxic than any other female counterpart on Hogwart's grounds.

On Mondays and Fridays, Cigarettes were his friend. And my god, were they his best.

I^I^I

He's a citizen of the forty-eighth state of America, otherwise known as Arizona.

He's an exchange student. He's the son of a factory worker.

He's a Ravenclaw.

He hates smoke and toxic liquids. He's in the Slug Club.

He's captain of the chess team.

He has perfect broad shoulders (and happy trail too).

And he's the exact opposite of James Potter.

So it's no surprise Monday morning when all head to breakfast, Joe Rodriguez strides hand-in-hand with a slim girl of fair skin and fiery hair and green eyes. It's too much for James to handle.

Alice Caprenter is the first to notice this couple's first entrance, and the first to approve.

"Oh my god, how did this happen?" The round faced girl points to white and tan interlocked hands.

It happened yesterday afternoon, she claims with a dreamy voice that was so not like Lily Evans.

There she is, all alone in the library, when a spot of blue catches her eye. 'Are you following me?' she teasingly had asked. As it turned out, Joe had been following her. He had stood before her with sweaty palms and a nervous demeanor and a daisy stolen from Sprout's orchard—and then, and _then, _as they say, the rest is history.

James'd been watching this whole time; in fact he's sitting only six seats away with Sirius when gossip first breaks round the table that Evans is finally snogging Rodriguez.

He swallows, _hard. _

He really doesn't need to hear it again; he'd seen it happen crystal clear with his own eyes the day before, and by god, was that enough.

I^I^I

Every Sunday afternoon, the library is graced by the presence of a studious bird called Camille Atkins.

She's a reserved beauty, she really is.

But James likes to say that she's anything but reserved.

Her physical appearance gives hints that underneath this 'quiet aura' she goes by, there's an unorthodox vixen waiting to be knows how to wear purple color on her eyes. She knows how to work those paisley headscarves when it's not even sunny.

And she likes to take her shoes off and soak her toes between the grass, and strum this thing she knows how to play called a guitar. She knows how to do things that Lily Evans doesn't know how to do. And because of that, Camille Atkins was James' cherry on top. _Was._

Because she is still a bit of a gossip.

So when 3:30 rolled around that Sunday afternoon, and a very eager James Potter walked through the library doors, with the ever so indecisive smile, Camille immediately grabs his arm and motions for him to hush.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asks. Her magically induced nails have left a mark on his once clear skin.

"Someone's hooking up..." she sings in voice that makes James almost want to cringe. She shushes him again before pointing to a _very _intertwined couple visible behind a bookshelf.

Before he could ask 'who' and 'where', he sees with his own two, spectacled eyes 'who'. And he almost vomits. When he sees red hair being stroked tenderly by a man with a Ravenclaw badge, his knuckles take their own action and grip the table hard until they're sickeningly white.

"C'mon, Cammy, we're leaving," his voice is low, and he pulls the poor girl called Atkins a wee bit too rough.

"Where we going?" she laughs with excitement because she _likes _it when James' is rough (and its sickeningly annoying).

The decibels of her voice floats across the room until green, emerald eyes snap up at once.

And James takes this liberty to suddenly pause, fully aware of his public display. A mischievous smile graces his lips and he turns around and he places his perfect lips on Cammie's neck.

"I think you know the answer to that, Atkins."

And they're gone within a flash, thanks to the speed of teenage hormones.

I^I^I

There's a room in the boys' dormitory full of the most vile stench of a week's old Firewhiskey; where Muggle pictures of girls clad in bikinis and motorbike posters decored the wall; where a book called "Ten Most Dangerous Werewolves" lay gracefully on the desk; and, where a letter from someone's mother was shoved underneath the bed.

But most importantly, in that room lies a pile of His and Her clothings-trousers of the darkest navy and a brassiere of the frilliest lace.

On the bed there lies Camille Atkins; and on the floor, warily exhausted I might add, is one James Potter and a cig between his fingers.

"So," Camille begins propping herself up on her elbow.

She's up for small talk, and James has never been the one for small talk, at least not with her anyway.

"What's that ginger's name?"

"What ginger?" he smokes; his brows curved; she has his attention.

"You know... the one that we saw in the library. The one that got your knickers in a twist," she laughs.

He decides Camille Atkins really does have a beautiful laugh; that is when she's not throwing her head back and forth in an obnoxious way that makes even the most decent of blokes cringe.

He huffs in disgust, picks up his muscular off the frame, and joins the girl underneath his sweaty because he wants to cuddle, _god no_; but he's cold, and poor little Camille Atkins is a naive fool.

"Lily Evans," he mutters after a short pause.

"_Evans, _you say?"

" ...yes, _Evans_. I just said that. Cammy, you are quite daft."

A pause here. Atkins is removing her limbs from his. She bolts upright. "She's the one, isn't she."

And her question isn't a question, but more of a statement.

"What do you mean?"

"She's the one that you do this for..." her voice slightly cracks (he rolls his eyes at her dramatic necessities) "Why you smoke, why you drink, why you go off into the Quidditch pitch at night and just _leave _me here all by myself... you're doing this to get her attention. You'd never do this for me."

She hit a nerve, a really low nerve. James violently pulls the sheets off them, and for a moment Atkins is scared at what the hell he'll do to her.

"Get out."

And his statement isn't really a statement, but more of a demand.

Atkins, the poor slag, she instantly becomes flustered and her pretty brown eyes are narrowing, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Get. out. now." He has no patience, at least not for her anyway.

"Wasted scumbag" slips from her lips and James turns away as her naked body finds its frivolous clothing.

"You know what, Potter?" Her thin frame leans against the door, taking in the sight of the pitiful but handsome man. "I hope you realize what you've just done. And when you finally come to your senses tomorrow morning, I'll be waiting for you at our usual spot."

There's a hint thrown, but not taken. And those are the last words Camille Atkins ever says to James Potter and his cigarette.


	2. The Redemption of James Potter

_(Part Two: The Redemption of James Potter)  
><em>They think no one is observing the risky game they play. They're fools—two rotten peas in a pod.

* * *

><p>"Let us begin this letter, this prelude to an encounter, formally, as a declaration,<br>in the old-fashioned way: I love you. You do not know me (although you have seen me, smiled at me).  
>I know you (although not so well as I would like. I want to be there when your eyes flutter open in the morning,<br>and you see me, and you smile. Surely this would be paradise enough?).  
>So I do declare myself to you now, with pen set to paper. I declare it again: I love you."<p>

-Neil Gaiman

* * *

><p>It happens on a Thursday morning.<p>

Alice Carpenter sees it during Ancient Runes.

She spies an uncommon blue amidst a band of red and golds, and pointedly picks him out of the crowd, he's a misplaced apple, he doesn't belong there. Not because of his Ravenclaw robes, but though he's seated next to that slag Atkins. Alice purses her lips.

The moment it happens is when Babblings pauses in the middle of her thirty minute lecture.

"Alright, begin your essays," she says.

Quick reflexes begin flipping pages and dipping ink, and the whole classroom is filled with the rustles of paper. All take advantage of a homework's head-start, but not Alice of course. Her preening eyes locks on one pair the entire time—Atkins and Rodriguez.

It's strange, she decides, how one rotten fruit can affect what was once fresh. But then she figures that maybe, maybe he wasn't as fresh as she and Lily thought.

How their fingers brush so tenderly as strays of grass as they reach for a quill and Camille's lips purse with lust. How his thigh moves in a circulatory rhythm against her knee and Joe's arm shivers with desire. How her tiny frame decides to lean on his shoulder after every minute or two on the occasion a curious face glance their way. It's curious, very curious, and Atkins and Rodriguez think no one is watching.

They think no one is observing the risky game they play.

They're fools—two rotten goddamn peas in a pod.

When the bell rings, every limb hastily moves to rearrange and pack.

But Alice is still watching, and the pair is still playing and his fingers are brushing hers, and her chest is heaving in desire. For a minute, Alice believesthat's all he'll do. But the minute his dark fingers drop a small scratch of parchment into Camille Atkins palm, and he flees from the room, there's the familiar question of deceit floating about in that classroom.

Camille is stunned, alike Alice, even more so; but the slag fails to note that she's carefully being watch. So with curious eyes, Camille opens the parchment and a thin, sickening smile forms on her lips.

The girl's daft, she really is; and Alice notes just how daft she is when she slips the small note carelessly into the trash bin. Without another word or another smile, she's gone from the room.

There's only one girl left in that classroom, the look of reddened betrayal hidden underneath rosy cheeks on her face.

Alice Carpenter knows it'll happen, and my god, she doesn't know what to do.

I^I^I

He always believed out of all Evans' friends that Carpenter was the most strange.

Dreamlike, he called her once, almost as if she plays out her life according to a happy ending story.

So when one orthodox move happens on a Friday night, consisting of one Alice Carpenter running to him, arms outstretched and feet running at the speed of a racer, James Potter isn't the least bit surprised.

Though he is a bit anxious to what the girl will do; he prays, dear god, she doesn't hug him.

"James! Oh James," Alice pants heavily, her palms rest tiredly on wobbly knees. He feels pity for the girl and nearly transfigures his books into a goblet of water. "Oh god, oh god, oh god James!"

"Hello… Alice, is it?" he asks inquisitively; he doesn't know her as well as McKinnons, or Meadowes, and doesn't realize she's about this close into a fit of nervous breakdowns.

She nods her head quickly as she continues gasping for breath, it's the only communication that she's capable of. James rakes a hand through his locks, pulling the roots with ease.

"Well, Alice. How are you?" He doesn't know what to say, and frankly, an awkward feeling subsides in his nerves—he realizes he's never talked to Carpenter before.

"Here…" she's still panting, in and out. She can't talk, can't catch her breath, but she hands him something. "Take it."

And she gears a slip of parchment towards his direction. A crease forms between the dark strays above his eyes but willingly he takes the paper without question, skims over it, and is instantly confused.

_8.40 PM_

"Carpenter," he holds the parchment between two brawny fingers. His patience is vanishing, "What the hell is this?"

If he were the same little shit he was two years ago, then he would've immediately fueled a witty banter and called her out on her advances of wanting to snog him privately at that written time. But James is matured now, and all perverse looks are locked away forever with his past mind.

Finally the girl is able to speak in her usual 75 words per hour tone. "I don't know, James, but I saw Camille and Joe passing this around during class!" she's frantic, James sees, and the heart of a loyal friend is evident through the distress of her round face. "I think, I think they're hooking up, James! I haven't told Lily yet… but I thought you should know."

That stumped him, it really did. Why would he, out of all human beings at Hogwarts, want to know what Camille Atkins is doing… or Joe Rodriguez is doing. He's about to question her, tongue forming the first consonants and all, but then he realizes it.

Carpenter thinks Atkins is his girlfriend. And by god, was that repulsive.

A rough clarification in his throat arises before he questions with a pinch of instability, "And Evans... she knows nothing about it. At all?"

She whispers negatively, shaking her face in disapproval before walking her face. She's done it, she's broken the ultimate best friend code or whatever shit girls refer to, James believes. So with one more nod with an added 'good luck', Alice Carpenter walks away leaving the ultimate alternative in James' hands.

What will he do?

I^I^I

There was never a time when Camille Atkins reserved a fondness for Lily Evans.

'The perfect bitch has everything', she'd claim this to anyone and everyone who'd listen, but cruelty and jealous are all just part of a lowly teenager's game, whilst insecurity is highly responsible for such feats as dishonesty and greed.

"Aren't you glad you dumped that bitch on her arse?" her tan arms wrap around a darker man's skin, and she's pressing, and she's rubbing against his body.

They're in the classiest places of all—the stockroom. And her poor mind decides that it can't get any better than this, because having Evan's boytoy caress her sides, and her arms without the ginger knowing is the best feeling and best revenge in the world. There's the kiss of deceit planted on her neck, and the shivers and tingles travel up to her skull. Underneath that mass of hair and skull, she's supposed to feel disgusted, and shameful of herself, but all the slag feels is victory, and conquest, and pride over Lily Evans.

"Hey know, Evans is most definitely not fat," her counterpart responds; no anger is evident, but only a pint of amusement. "Did you have fun dropping the golden boy down the drain, or was it he first that dropped you?"

Her mouth agapes, and she pushes away from him.

Before Atkins opens the jar of worms she calls a mouth, the cupboard door swings open revealing a man with eyes so dark the hazel has vanished.

There's a look so distasteful, and so spiteful of the scene in front of him, and Camille's imagination are brought back to that day when James Potter threatened her out of his room.

He has his fists at his side, but not for long.

Two become three in that cupboard, but not in the way the sickening Atkins expected with that dirty little mind underneath that dirty and far too colored hair.

But as for Joe Rodriguez, it all goes black from there.


	3. The Meeting of Redemption & Ignorance

_(Part Three: The Meeting of Redemption & Ignorance)  
><em>Because she would always remain his weakness.

* * *

><p>His name's James Potter.<p>

And James Potter has been right all along.  
>On a Saturday night she's realized it.<br>Alice Carpenter has seen it.

Camille Atkins has mocked it.  
>And James Potter has punched it.<p>

I^I^I

There's an uproar in the Great Hall that night.

The sound vibrates to the Gryffindor common room where Lily Evans sits.

No doubt crosses her mind that this chaos is caused by James Potter's questionable black eye and Joe Rodriguez's infirmary check-in. Rumors swirled about the castle all morning. There was a fight, yes, but the question of what triggered (and most importantly who started) the fight became the main source of teenage idiocy and riot.

She had watched the cupboard scene unfold, alike the rest of her classmates earlier with furious eyes—that Atkins girl stumbled over Joe Rodriguez, tights ripped, hair messed, and lipstick smeared. But what surprised Lily was the third occupant of the stockroom staggering out the moment the crowd began to disperse.

Of course this third occupant just had to be James Potter, and James Potter was quite the site. His hair was messier than ever. The look of a madman was embarked on his face; and the scars and bruises—he wore them bravely, as he yanked Rodriguez by the collar once more before walking away.

Potter must've really liked Camille for him to be so brash, Lily thinks.

That Saturday night finds the Gryffindor common room empty.

The only sounds come from fire crackling meters beside her and the occasional first year rushing down for a late supper.

The Fat Lady's portrait opens and she hears the gruff and jovial voices of four men entering.

"…complete rubbish, James," Peter laughs heartily with Remus. "You really think we're buying it Rodriguez socked you first?"

Remus joins in on the conversation, "Now, now Prongs. We're all in good Marauder company. No need to sugarcoat anything for us!"

"I'm telling you guys the truth! The git punched my eye, _my fucking eye! _What was I supposed to do, just stand there? Shitty Americans and their good-for-nothing—"

"—_James!_" And this time it's Sirius who bellows, and they become quiet, and Lily's back is facing them, and the idiocy of a teenage boy causes her grin to grow without the four seeing.

(She should be sad, really, considering she's just ended it with her boyfriend and all.)

Whispers sound behind her and are followed by the thundering of boys' feet climbing up the stairs.

"Evans," James begins, and she sees they're all alone. After all this time, there remains a nervous glitch in James' voice tucked away under his the breath of cigarettes and one-night stands. "Can I sit here?" he points to the chair across her.

"I guess there's no reason for you not to," her lips move slowly, and with the aid of the fireplace's illumination, James sees the smile that makes him so vulnerable.

To put it simply, Lily Evans was and would always remain his weakness. But he's made a promise to himself to restore his strength and put it in the hands of a woman who feels for him as much as he gives to her. He's so tired of wearing his heart on his sleeve.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry," he admits. His strength is slipping through the cracks of her fingers, and he's losing the fight within himself with that damn smile of hers. If he becomes the King of England, he'd ban Lily Evan's smile until it becomes rightfully his.

"For what? For once, Potter, I should be thanking you for taking care of that fuckwit."

"No offense, Evans, but shouldn't you be crying right now?" His question shoots out like a misplaced star, and he's waiting, and waiting for her to answer. (And he's also mentally slapping himself.)

She pauses for a moment: mouth slightly agape, hands covering her book's binding, and her breath hitched somewhere in space. "You're right," she sighs finally. "But, I'm not."

"Why?" is all his voice can ask.

"Because I— , I never _loved_ him."

Hastily she stands before the fireplace, and James' best guess is because she can't bring herself to look at him (or so he'd like to believe). Her curves and figure are shadowed by the light of the fire, and he's never seen anything more beautiful. There's a spark in James that craves for her to look him in the eye, and it takes all of him to prevent himself from striding across the room, and kneeling before her until she's stopped being afraid of him.

He's losing his battle.

James Potter is a friend of vulnerability, and he knows vulnerability when he sees it.

And you can guess what he'd just seen in Lily Evans' eyes.

"Shouldn't you be crying on Sirius' shoulder? Your eye looks like it hurts," she stares into the pit of the fire.

"Tonight I will," he chuckles and nods his head approvingly. A smile appears on his face, it's been MIA since the start of term. "Are you okay?"

"No."

Tension drifts between them, and its nothing neither he nor she has ever felt. There's no more wit to spare, and there's no more excuses to use.

It's just she and him, and he and her, and James and Lily. He watches her shoulders begin to shake and finally, _finally_ he thinks he's cracked through her barrier wall.

"Evans, I—"

"You knew all along, didn't you?"

A painful tug pulls in her voice.

Because out of all people she expected to hear truth from, it's him.

She assumed with their past history and his past fondness for her, he'd always be truthful given the circumstances- she's run out of options with Snape's deception and Petunia's cruelty and society's pureblooded judgment. She's just a teenage girl searching for something real and something true.

"You _knew _that Joe was with Camille even before we started dating, didn't you?"

But James doesn't know what to say, or how to react because he too, has never felt more vulnerable in his life. "Yeah. I did know."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"…no."

"May I ask why?"

He pauses, and thinks which side of the truth he wants to tell. "I didn't want to see you get hurt, so I decided to take care of it myself."

"So you lied to me," and her question isn't a question, but more of a statement.

"The _fuck_, Evans?" James' voice rises, and he too stands from his seat. "I haven't had a decent conversation with you ever since that damn Snape incident last year! Would you really have believed me if I'd come up to you and accused Rodriguez of shagging random women?"

Disbelief marks her face, and she's astounded at the point he's sunk to. He can almost guess what she's about to say next.

"You do it all the time, Potter."

"That's," he can't bear to look at her out of his own shame. "That's entirely different, Evans."

"Are you shitting me?" His head snaps at her vulgar protest. "Every night, _every night_!" she yells, "I see you with your stupid cigarette, and some stupid girl by your side! And you have the guts, James Potter, to just go up to my boyfriend—"

"—your _ex-_boyfriend!"

"—think it's perfectly alright just to punch him for him doing what you do best!" she gasps for breath, whirling on her heel to face him. They're only inches apart now.

"You're a hypocrite, and I thought you'd be better than _him. _I thought you were changing James, I really did," and her voice is so empty and lifeless, it reminds James of death. Her breath lingers against his face.

And slowly, he gives her the Truth she's been looking for, "I have, Lily, but you're head's just been so damn high on cloud nine to notice it."

Instantly, she makes a dart to move past him, but he's too quick for her. "Let go of me, James!"

"This isn't about Rodriguez, is it?" he spits with vile, and she stops protesting against his grip.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she scoffs, and she's looking everywhere but him. "James, please, just let me—"

"This is about _us, _isn't it?" he whispers, and his nose presses against her cheek. His eyelids are shut, and his chafed lips start to murmur against the moisture of her skin, "It's _always_ been about us. Why you're mad.. why you're not even crying.. you never loved him like you love me, and I know you do. I know you do."

"Don't you get it, Lily? I'm so— , so fucking in love with you," he's desperate now for her to understand. "But I don't _deserve_ you, Lily Evans. And it's killing me," his breath is ragged, and his heart's jumped from his sleeve and into her hands.

And for a minute, he hates himself for his deliberate torture.

Arms slowly release the grasp around her waist, but his body stills against hers, and his lips are still pressed against her cheek, and she's still trembling and he's still holding her. His blood's boiling with intensity, but when he feels his lips wet with her tears, he pulls back with a look so confused and so soft he doesn't know what to do.

"L-Lily?" his voice cracks with anguish.

Her hands are shaking, and she reaches to cover her eyes. "Please," her voice is as broken as his, "just let me go."

And all James Potter ever desired was for Lily Evans to get what she needed, but what she needed was something he couldn't give her. So without any further hesitation, he gives her what she's secretly wanted all along.

He kisses her.


	4. Epilogue

_(Epilogue: The Day James Potter Became the King of England)  
><em>If he becomes the King of England, he'd ban Lily Evan's smile until it becomes rightfully his.

* * *

><p>Her name's Lily Evans.<p>

And my, what a rebellious child is she, or so she'd like to think.

It's eleven thirty on a Friday night and she's spent the last five minutes of her youth pacing about the first floor corridor in a frenzied state. Her hands twiddle with anxiousness and sweat drips down her palms. There's a prefect badge barely seen under the torches' light.

She's never been past curfew before on a whim, and she can't help it when the adrenaline crashes inside her. Her blood boils. She can't handle this, she really can't—it's quite fretful, really—and the thought of turning back and placing herself in between gold and crimson covers doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

"Oi! Will you stop pacing around like that? You're going to make _me _shit myself!"

He's here, finally.

His voice calls out from the other side of the corridor, no doubt amused at her displayed agitation. His presence brings her comfort and she feels a security that wasn't there before.

The Invisibility Cloak hanging from her shoulders is yanked from her frame before her muscles have a chance to turn around and a chaste kiss is placed on her lips, quieting her silent protests.

Warmth presses near warmth, the corners of her lips curl with satisfaction, she melts into his touch so precisely that it's 's perfect, she thinks, and a new feeling arises in her chest.

"No more nerves?" He takes note of her feathery shift and asks gently, whilst fingers smooth her frazzled tendrils of hair back in its place.

"With you, there'll always be nerves."

His hand places over his heart and the effects of a mock injure form on his pretty face. "Ouch, Evans, why do you always find ways to wound me?"

"_Always_, Potter?I'll _always_ wound you?"

It's meant to be a light joke. But behind her questioning remark, there's a tender and sensitive hope.

It's in her eyes, he sees, and he takes this chance to be the soft and gentle lover she deserves. Her 'always' refers to something that could flee at any minute. Because Lily, being Lily, has a history of fleeting ships called Petunia and Snape. And the man standing before her being a potential sailing ship scares the hell out of her.

But he knows what to do. So he brushes his lips over hers, gently and meaningful, and while his forehead rests on hers, he utters the single word she likes to hear the most: "Always."

(Because they haven't reached 'I love you' yet.)

Mischief forms on her face and it causes him to wonder if she's truly happy.

Her smile for him confirms that she is. He can call her smile his, and the previous thoughts of his original Friday night cigarette are banished far, far away from his mind. He has a new tradition now, one that he shares willingly with her.

Every Friday night, with a cloak over their bodies and her hand sweating in his, they go into the Honeydukes cellar for his woman to pick out the sweets of her choice. Of course, with her protests, he has to pay for stolen treats now by leaving at least a sickle or knut for the good old shopkeeper to find.

Their love never came cheap, he'd say later on when they married.

"Are you ready, Lil?"

There's excitement in her jittery whispers, and the feeling of her being thrilled about something he's done, uplifts him beyond imagination.

"Course I'm ready!" His hands clasp around the wand that's been hiding in his pocket. With a simple _dissendium_, the passage is revealed, and noises of amazement come from her mouth. It's the most glorious sound he's heard all night.

"Impressed?" He can't help but be smug and the nature he's known for appears cockily in his smile. He holds her hand, firm and gentle, while the other holds his lighted wand, and together they walk forward into the dark.

He's still waiting for answer.

She's still pausing.

"Nope!"

"And why not?" He stops walking and crosses his arms over his chest with a dominant air about his stature. His smile gives it away, however.

She doesn't answer, but the mischievous beam she gleams stuns him.

She's teasing.

His eyes watch her intently, never leaving her small frame even when she decides to stroll along without him with a curious admiration.

They're both admiring something. She's admiring the passage, and he's admiring her, and she's admiring his intelligence, and he's admiring her.

And knowing he's allowed to do whatever he wants with her (with a few limits) stirs this electrifying fire that only a lover feels. Arms tackle her sides causing a yelp from her throat. He smothers that delightful flesh of skin with kisses. He kisses her nose, and he kisses her hair, and he kisses her fingers.

She's laughing, another glorious sound. He silences her beautiful music with one last kiss, and there's a fight for dominance when his mouth decides to explore hers.

He let's her win (even when she doesn't want to).

"Hey, what's this?"

Her fingers stop at the parchment resting in the pocket of his tattered jeans. He should've been jittery, really, as one of his secrets was about to be revealed. But instead of a nervous cover-up or a stuttered string of words, he calmly answers: "That's the Marauder's Map, babe."

"The 'Marauder's Map', huh?" Her smirk lifts higher as if she's discovered a Slytherin's innermost secret. She pulls the folded parchment out of his pocket roughing the corner edges. He's forgotten to scrap away the evidence of the map, as the dots roam freely beneath her hands.

Astonishment appears in the dimples of her cheeks, "So this is how you found Joe!"

"What?" He's snapped back into reality as soon as the name of scum sounds from her pretty mouth. Something that vile coming from something that pretty should be illegal, he thinks.

"This," she holds up the unfolded map, with the secretive locations of students sprawled everywhere, "is how you found Joe, isn't it? This is how you knew where Camille and Joe were! This is a top-notch, private, little Marauder secret, isn't it? Amazing!"

His large hands encompass her waist and draw her closer and dearly near to him. Her lips mumble next to his ear whispering things that only two lovers should know.

"That's sneaky." She's impressed and he knows it and her stomach against his lower region while her hands fondle his hair triggers something in him that, with all due respect, shouldn't be triggered.

"Yeh?"

"Yeh." She whispers. And she's panting against him, and he's rubbing against her.

"Does it turn you on?" He dares question.

But my god, Lily Evans is a tease, and he finds this out when she abruptly pulls away from him amidst that spit-shitting smile of hers, and yells "Nope!" And she runs furthermore into the passageway, lighted wand raised above her head. He barely sees where she's skipped off to, whilst her laughter echoes back to his rooted spot.

And finally, he yells the one thing that's been on his mind since his lips touched hers for the first time that night, since her hands caressed his sides in the most erotic of ways, and since his damn pants suddenly became two sizes too small.

"Goddammit, Lily Evans! What's it going to take for me to finally turn you on?"

And you know what that cheeky shit Lily Evans does? She shouts back, with hair bouncing and green eyes looking behind her, "You're going to have to find that out, babe! I have my little secrets too!"

And James Potter, the sickeningly, purely, disgusting, devoted and faithful fool he is, chases after her. He'd patiently find out that secret when she was ready to tell him, and other secrets too. And those secrets would be the most glorious things he'd ever hear.

I^I^I

Later that night, after the first of a new tradition has started, when the girl got her sweets and treats and his roommates remained in their dozing sleeps, he'd take out that map again, chant a quiet _Lumos _and search for The Dot which was so plain and so dull compared to her lively red and green. And when he'd finally find The Dot, he'd release the breath he'd been holding in and be at peace with himself. She was safe. And from that day on until Hogwarts passed them onto the real world, there wouldn't be a night nor a morning when James Potter wouldn't search for Her Dot.

Because regardless of where they were, he'd always be looking out for her.

Always.

* * *

><p>"Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.<br>I hate love."

-Neil Gaiman


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